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Coming closer.

January is rather a dull month in the village where I live. Everything is silent. The grocer’s wife, who is never short of good stories and secrets she reveals has nothing more to offer than a few dry remarks about the neighbor’s sister, who tends to sneeze in a most provocative way at her, wherever she appears. But even I know this story by heart and just pretend to listen. The seagulls are quiet, the sheep look bored and the crows cough in a oct distasteful way. Long was the January, cold and windy, sleet came down, the bus driver cursed, Queen Cat ripped off all the blossoms of my orchids and did not even look ashamed. I worked all day long and found myself too often in front of the open fridge eating a sad piece of cheese and a bite of bread, before falling into my bed. Yes, it was a long and dull time. But today something changed. Not only that the sun glittered when I woke up, but it was as if the village woke up from a long, deep and silent sleep. When entering the grocer’s shop, the grocer’s wife told me a long and exhausting story of the neighbor three streets down, who purchased a brand, new Mercedes, just two days ago under the most suspicious circumstances, her eyes glittered as she handed me my mixed-berry scone. Whenever you might come into my village, get yourself a scone. The grocer’s wife scones are marvelous. Oven-warm, thick, sweet, full of fruits and raisins, they are scones to die for. But it was not the grocer’s wife alone, three men I spotted bathing in the Irish sea. The seagulls shrieked, one biker after another drove through the streets, under the massive old trees the first early bloomers raised their heads into the bright daylight, the castle grounds were packed of people, the fisherman smoked and started to paint their boats, the sheep looked not sheepish but rather eager to impress, and Queen Cat did not only jump down from the kitchen table, when she spotted me entering the kitchen, but laid herself upon my feet and remained there till I finished the scone and the paper. The spring can’t be far away anymore.